


Smiled

by cuneifire (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Gen, vaguely 20th century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cuneifire
Summary: He wonders how on earth they’re related, really; when Feliciano is everything he’s not. It makes no sense, this skewed geometry of their relationship.





	Smiled

The light fractures in Romano’s gaze as he looks over his shoulder.

“Germany, Germany, I’m so happy we’re allies now!” His brother is saying, smiling widely at said nation. Their hands are touching, gazes intimate; Romano resists the urge to barf all over his spaghetti.

He turns back to his food, away from where his brother finishes signing the treaty, knowing full well his signature is undeniably illegible and that potato bastard will spend a few hours trying to figure it out; put it together in the right order, the order that suits the little boxes he has managed to shove the world into.

The pasta, he decides, needs more pepper.

His brother skips over to him, excited smile (God, Romano hates it when he smiles) on his face, jubilant light obvious in his glittering gold eyes.

“Aren’t you happy, Romano? Now that we have Germany on our side, there’s no way-“

“-Shut up, Feliciano, I’m eating my fucking pasta.” He says, fixing his brother with a glare.

The smile on his brother’s face trembles. Romano feels something that could, theoretically, be guilt, but is most likely smugness.

“But why wouldn’t you be-“

Romano’s fork scrapes at his plate with a screech that resembles nails on chalkboard.

“Feliciano,” His voice is low. “I am _trying _to eat my pasta.” _Fuck off, _he’d like to tell him, but there’s now officials glaring up and down due to his little stunt earlier. _Fuckers, _he thought. _Absolute fuckers. _

His brother’s smile falters as he sits down, the chair soft against the floor before he cleanly picks up his fork and eats it; properly, the same way he speaks _proper _Italian and has a _proper _commercial market and can _properly _industrialise.

But there’ still this happy light in his eyes as he eats his pasta, and Romano swears he will never understand his brother, be it with alliances or talent or how he simply happens to be everything Romano’s not.

It’s a wonder they’re still the same country, really. It’s a wonder they’re not at war yet.

_Just wait, _a voice in his head seems to sneer.

_Just wait, you’ll see. _


End file.
